Quick Turn
by arctic draconis
Summary: Atobe wants to introduce Ryoma to upper class society, but Ryoma is stubborn.


Author notes: My first AtoRyo…For Lady Androgene  
Enjoy.

**Quick Turn**

Elegant music saturated the room, creating an atmosphere of light cheer as those of the society pages mingled. Glasses full of the most expensive champagne used more as a prop than a drink. Idle chatter that said nothing and yet was full of intimations. A room full of the richest, wealthiest members of society, all set to enjoy another gala event.

All, that is, but the individuals secluded in an alcove by the entrance to the grand hall.

Atobe admired the form of his partner, taking in the tailored form fitting pants, stylish jacket, blue collar contrasting with tanned skin, pouty lips begging to be kissed, eyes that smouldered a challenge and _the THING!_

Experience had taught him that the plebeians didn't understand the etiquette that ruled the upper classes, he'd just never expected for his boyfriend to disregard even the lowest form of fashion.

"Remove that eye-sore at once!" Atobe snapped, driven beyond social graces.

Ryoma eyed his fuming boyfriend, but refused to acknowledge Atobe's demand.

Atobe snapped his fingers angrily. "Ryoma, be reasonable."

Ryoma crossed his arms. "Yadda! The hat stays."

_...of all the nerve! Here he was, trying to be nice to be nice to his obviously uneducated boyfriend, and the brat repays him with this. He'd MAKE him remove that hideous rag._

"Which would you prefer? Ore-sama in all his shining glory, or some ratty piece of fabric that should have been retired years ago?"

Ryoma gave the question some careful thought.

_...if Atobe really wanted him to choose..._

Ryoma sighed and began to move towards the exit.

Atobe stared in shock as Ryoma began to walk away from him (ore-sama!), shock robbing him of his extensive vocabulary, though not for long.

"Echizen Ryoma! Where do you think you're going?"

"Home." Ryoma rolled his eyes. "See you around Monkey King."

"You can't be serious. You're choosing your _hat_," the word was practically a curse, "over me?"

"Yes." The word was uttered with the utmost assurance that it was the right decision.

"Why are you choosing a piece of second rate textile over your gifted boyfriend?"

"There will always be other boyfriends, but I'll never get a hat like this one ever again."

Shock once again momentarily robbed Atobe of speech.

_This would not do. He would not stand for it. How dare the brat think he could dump Atobe for a rag that wasn't fit to be beneath Atobe's designer shoes._

...and the brat was still moving towards the door.

Atobe quickly closed the space opening up between them, blocking the smaller boy's path. "Ore-sama hasn't given you permission to leave."

"Che" Ryoma tugged at his hat and made as though to walk around Atobe, but the movement was quickly aborted as the older boy got a firm grip on his arm.

Atobe pulled him into a kiss. Atobe dominating Ryoma's mouth, staking claim on every inch. Tongues tangling. Teeth clashing. The need for air all but forgotten, just for a second more...

Atobe smirked down at Ryoma, admiring the other's flushed face, panting lips and hands that tightly gripped his suit, wrinkling the pristine garment (a worthy sacrifice).

"Isn't that more appreciable than a hat?"

Ryoma blinked, eyes losing the look of dazed lust. "No. My hat's still worth more.

Atobe growled and snatched the hat from Ryoma's head, tossing it to the waiting presence. "Kabaji," Atobe sneered, "dispose of that trash."

"Yes."

There was a brief struggle as Ryoma tried to escape Atobe's arms to follow his hat, but was easily pinned to Atobe's larger body, the older boy not releasing him until Kabaji was out of sight.

Ryoma shot him a vicious glare. "You better replace that."

Atobe smiled, willing to be magnanimous with his victory. "Ore-sama will replace that scrap fabric, get you whatever you desire, all the hats in the world if you want."

"I don't want every hat in the world! I want the 1985 Wimbledon hat personally signed by Boris Becker when he became the youngest person to ever win the men's singles championship. The '_scrap'_ that you just '_disposed'_ of."

Atobe choked, staring incredulously at the younger boy.

Ryoma's glare attempted to incinerate him on the spot.

Atobe hurried off to stop Kabaji from desecrating such a valuable piece of history.

Ryoma smirked, mockingly calling after him, "I'm sure they sell something just like it at all the 'fashionable' stores."

Atobe ran.

X---------X----------X----------X----------X  
Reviews appreciated. Criticisms considered. Flames ignored.

WOOT! I actually did some research for this fic (knows nothing about Tennis championships)  
...and yes, in my story, for some reason Ryoma actually WEARS what would be a priceless piece of memorabilia.

…and yes the title was intentional.


End file.
